


End Game

by Manna



Series: The Grant Family Stories [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:05:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manna/pseuds/Manna





	End Game

Bartolomew sat at her desk in the main Earth Central Security headquarters and planned the end game. This was always the trickiest part of an operation, because people under stress are so much more unpredictable than at other times. She pulled up psychological profiles and movement reports, trying to spot weaknesses in her plan.

Actually, it would be quicker to look for the strengths.

At the beginning, Bartolomew had high hopes for the operation: a bank fraud on truly impressive lines with the probability of political motivation. The kudos wasn't really important to her personally, but it would be good for the department.

She'd planned the whole thing herself, even the tasks more usually left to subordinates. She always created her own persona's details for an assignment, but for once she had also designed every one of the other people who would constitute her cover. At the reeducation centre she had selected the people who would 'play' them and personally directed the memory blocks and implants.

When it was finished the cover had been a work of art: 'Anna Grant, with her friends and relatives', by Bartolomew.

Most of what she thought of as 'the cast' were standard creations for this type of operation. There was a semi-estranged husband, to provide excuses for absences. A small group who had been given sufficient memories of a past friendship with her that they would be able to satisfy any suspicious enquiries into her history. One close childhood friend who would be able to provide the target with advice and encouragement. A couple of older relatives to use for awkward dinner parties.

Finally, she had made Anna a brother. Del had been a tricky creation, because of the uncertainty about the target's motivations. She gave Del a carefully balance of simmering subversive tendencies and a touch of greed, both of which could push him towards involvement in the target's plan. Del might end up being her main source of information, if the target refused to confide in her. And, of course, Del and Anna had to be close, because in the end he would have to betray his new friend for his sister's sake.

She was proud of Del, she really was. She thought he might be her best work.

Of course, in the end all the effort had been for nothing. There was no political involvement, no conspiracy. There was only Avon, greedy and insecure and, paradoxically, blindly confident in his own technical ability. She almost felt sorry for him. They could have picked him up when they'd first noticed the security breach, and he might have escaped with nothing worse than a few month's political reeducation. Now his punishment would have to justify the resources spent on him.

Bartolomew checked her wrist chronometer. Nine am, at last. She pressed the communicator button.

Her newly appointed assistant answered at once. "Yes, ma'am?"

She smiled approvingly—she didn't like to encourage informal relations with the administrative staff. "Marston, bring me a coffee please."

It was early in the day for the request, but Marston didn't comment. Usually she saved her daily ration of two cups until after lunch, when the stimulant effect was welcome enough to off-set the artificial flavour.

Bartolomew returned her attention to the screen before her, and sighed. It would all be difficult to justify at the end of year budget review. Very difficult, because she hadn't ended the operation when she should have done. She had dragged things out and that was why she had been here for three hours already, sitting in the office before most people had arrived for the day. Going over and over her end game, trying to make it work out.

She had done something impossibly stupid. She had fallen in love.

It was a recognised danger, of course, especially in this type of operation which required a sexual involvement. Pretending to be someone else all day, acting out the part of a lover, it was so easy to end up believing the lies. She had written papers about the phenomenon and given lectures to new recruits. Every day she'd been with Avon she'd taken time out to remind herself who she was and what she was doing. So she had been utterly taken aback when she realised the depth of her feelings. She could remember the exact moment it had happened.

Avon had left her apartment a little earlier than usual, on some non-specific errand. Over the last few days she hadn't bothered to keep such close tabs on him. The operation was a bust, essentially, but for some reason she hadn't finished it yet. Within the next few days, she decided as she lay in bed, she would have Avon picked up and then set about dismantling her cover.

She was wondering whether to have Anna deported to a prison planet or die under interrogation, when she heard the door to the apartment open again. She'd been surprised, because Avon rarely forgot things. But it was Del who called out in the hall below.

"Anna?"

"I'll be down in a minute."

She'd grabbed a dressing gown, taken a moment to get completely into character, then gone down stairs.

Del stood by the window in the hall, staring outside. She could tell straight away that something was wrong.

"What's the matter, Del? Come through into the living room."

He ignored the invitation.

"Is he here?"

"Avon?"

"I'm hardly likely to mean your husband, am I?"

That had rocked her a little, shaken her out of being entirely Anna. It wasn't like Del. She decided on a calm approach. That's what Anna would do. She went over, touched his arm.

"Del, what's wrong?"

He sighed, hesitated. "I'm worried about you, sis."

"There's no need. Everything's fine."

He turned round, eyes searching her face. "Anna, you know I'd never want to hurt you, don't you?"

The depth of his love, his concern, was plain on his face. Her mouth went unaccountably dry. She managed a nod.

"I wouldn't say this—wouldn't interfere—if I didn't _have_ to. You've got to face the truth. He's going to get you killed."

She spoke without thinking. "I thought you liked him."

Del frowned. "Didn't he tell you?"

"What?"

"We had an argument last night. I told him he had to drop his plan. I told him that if anything happens you I'd kill him." He smiled wryly. "I thought he might have mentioned that."

Bartolomew almost smiled herself. Del was able to see, even at a time like this, how melodramatic the threat sounded. She knew exactly what he was thinking—how could she not, when she had made him?

"Del, I love him."

He looked at her sadly, then suddenly hugged her close, held her tight. "Be careful, little sister. Please be careful."

Then he was gone.

Bartolomew sat on the bottom of the stairs and stared blindly at the door which had closed behind him. It was true. She did love him. She loved Del Grant.

"Ma'am? Are you all right, ma'am?"

She looked up quickly, finding Marston hesitating in the doorway, coffee in hand. Newly recruited to the department, sandy-haired and a little awkward but always anxious to please, he was frowning at her, concern plain. She hadn't even heard him open the door.

"Of course I am." Fear and anger sharpened her voice. "Put that down and leave."

He lowered his gaze as he walked over, concentrating on the steaming coffee. "Yes, ma'am."

After he set the cup down on the spotless white desk, she touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I've had a long morning already."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." He glanced up at her briefly, then down again. "Will that be all, ma'am?"

"Yes, Marston. Thank you."

She watched him go. The boy was already learning the guarded voice, the blank expression, that characterised Central Security junior employees. Who wouldn't, faced with working for people like her?

Dismissing the idea, she returned her attention to the problem in hand. A problem entirely of her own, if unwilling, making.

After the revelation, there had been two available courses of action. She could have reported herself sick and taken herself off the case. It would have been a little messy, but not a disaster. Over-involvement in a case was an accepted problem and whilst it wasn't a superb career move, she would have been able to get over it. Someone else would take over, clean up.

She had actually imagined it for a while. Avon under interrogation, then dead or exiled. And Del just dead or, far worse, wiped clean. Her beautiful, intricate creation erased forever.

Or she could try somehow to make it work out. Del wasn't the target, after all. The department was expecting to get Avon, and she could hand him over easily. Del's evidence wasn't needed for the trial. Suddenly the failure of the case to produce a conspiracy became a fantastic bonus. No-one would really care what happened to Anna Grant's cover.

Somehow, she had decided as she had sat on the stairs, she would find him a way out. And if it meant she didn't see him again, she could live with that. It would be enough to know that he was alive somewhere else, her Del.

However, the game wasn't going to plan.

Avon had become unexpectedly elusive. Bartolomew had never expected him to be that good a shot, but the body of the visa dealer had been found, along with rather a lot of Avon's blood. However, the patrols hadn't found Avon himself and she had to have him. She couldn't afford for there to be an investigation.

Worse, Del was still here. She had hoped that he would run when the news of Anna's arrest was circulated. He hadn't, and she knew that he wouldn't as long as his sister was alive. She wondered if he somehow didn't realise the danger he was in. Once they had Avon, he would certainly implicate Del in the fraud.

Of course they _didn't_ have Avon yet, but it was only a matter of time. Avon would come for Anna, she was sure, just as soon as he was able. He loved her, totally. He would give everything up for her, even his life. Anna had been made for Avon, just as carefully as Del had been made for Anna.

She sipped the coffee, wincing at the taste.

Damn. She needed Avon to come and she needed Del to go. She needed Anna alive and she needed her dead. Soon, she would have to pull in all Avon's contacts. Too long a delay would be impossible to explain and she had already waited a week.

Bartolomew went through the psychological profiles again. Of the two of them, Avon's behaviour was the harder to predict, but he lacked experience in living on the run. They would find him, sooner or later.

She activated the communicator on her desk. "Information distribution, please."

It took a moment for the connection to go through, during which she weighed up the appalling risks. She could justify this move—had already justified it, the report written. An attempt to flush Avon out, to make him try to run. It might even work. However, if her superiors found out what she was really doing, Avon's future would seem like a paradise compared to hers.

"For immediate release please, through criminal and subversive channels. Item: Anna Grant, arrested in connection with political crimes, died under interrogation today."

She pulled up Del's profile one more time, read her own notes and protocols. He would survive. She had made him tough, independent, a little mercenary. If you could believe the psychological projections he would probably end up fighting the Federation somewhere.

An odd idea, that. They would become enemies. She would be one of the faceless Federation thugs who had murdered Anna Grant and he would be a political criminal. Briefly, Bartolomew wondered what it meant, that she could love someone like that. Then she put the thought aside and waited for news to come in.

It didn't matter why she loved Del. What mattered was that she did, and that she had let him go.


End file.
